I'm Famous. And a Cheater.

First, Tacompton Tiffany and I went skiing, and although I can't find a link to the live interview on the lift (yet), here's the article! I'm famous! (By the way, Tacompton and I agreed that it was one of the best first-day-of-the-season-days we have EVER had. It helps to not be 16 and poor. Nothing to prove regarding stamina and skill, no need to wring the most possible runs out of that $29 investment. Lovely.) (Also, skiing is the best workout ever. I've been at 135 pounds consistently for days. In spite of hitting the gym once last week, as opposed to three.)

Woo!

I may soon be even more famous than I anticipate, if the identity in my stolen wallet ever morphs into a fake person. Yes, my wallet was stollen this weekend. Yes, it was a messy experience. On the plus side, I got given a really hot new shirt, for free. Yes, I'm cancelling everything. Yes, I'm upset. Thank you for asking.

And after several days of psuedo-dating, the lonely guy from the previous post (Chicago Aerospace Engineer, or CAE) and I are, officially, dating. After many games of beer pong, we lost ourselves in a romantic haze, he asked me, "Will you go with me?", and I said yes. Exclusively.

T-Town, when I was telling her this story, said, "He does know that that's just something fun you like to say, right?" I laughed hysterically, because she's entirely correct. I haven't, for example, told Hardware Engineer yet. Don't know if I will, don't know if I won't, don't know what I want. I do know that I'm terrified (again, one might use the term "pathological") of putting all my eggs in one basket, of pinning all my hopes on one person.

Below, an excerpt from an old post from my formal livejournal:

"The problem is, I have no middle gears when it comes to relationships. I'm either uncaring or too caring. Usually when I feel myself falling for someone, I'll fritter away some of those cares on other guys, helping to spread the load, which has the added benefit of making me care about the guy I'm with somewhat less.

Because really, there are very few guys who could handle me full time all the time. Now the prospect of being with just him both fills me with dread and makes me want to make every girly mistake under the sun. Now I, and this is ME we're talking about, wants to ask him if he wants us to have kids, and what he thinks our kids would look like, and if he wants to get married or sees himself as more of an outside the rules kind of person. I want to follow him around but since I can't do that, I want to call him and commit verbal suicide by giving him a running commentary on everything I'm doing ("Now I'm peeing. Now I'm retouching some spots on my countertops. Now I'm petting Titan--Oh, what a good boy!") just to keep him on the phone and feel like he's near me. I'm infatuated, big time."

And I am infatuated. I've spent all morning imagining our future life together, in a Seattle loft high-rise with exposed brick and a fantastic kitchen. Having pets. Hosting couples dinners. Having art on the walls. Knowing artists. Competing in our careers and then, when one of us retires rich and famous, starting new lives as philanthropists. And possibly artists. I could write and make t-shirts and promote bands. Traveling. I want to wrap him around me like a blanket. Never mind that he enjoys his apartment in Suburban Town outside Seattle and, since he doesn't like curry or sushi, probably doesn't like traveling, either.

On the other hand, I know I need to do some internal work: break it off with Hardware Engineer, for one, although that won't happen right away. Find a new area for myself in B-----. (I like where I am, but I need to run away and get more experience before I can make it what I want.) And I'll have plenty of time. Because Chicago Aerospace Engineer is awesome, but we both have a lot of growing to do, so although the fantasy life is fun, I'm not holding my breath.